Only Half Here
by x3michellex3
Summary: Around a year after the defeat of Voldemort, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are together and happy until Hermione loses her memory.This story follows the couple as they struggle to relive the past while looking toward a future together.The POV varies.
1. Chapter 1: Broken

Chapter 1: Broken

Ron woke up as the first beams of day broke through the hospital curtains. He awoke to an overly white hospital room. His first thought, as always, was breakfast, but as his mind drifted to his mother's cooking, he remembered his mother was at The Burrow with the rest of his family. It was all coming back: the battle, the accident, and finally the news that shook his world right of its axis.

The pain flooded back so quickly that he surely would have fallen if he had not been sitting down. His feelings were so intense that he couldn't even tell what exactly it was that he was feeling. Was it regret? Sorrow? Loss? Grief? Physical pain? Love?

That was it. He was feeling love. But this was not the storybook love. The love that made teenage girls giggle and was always in the sappiest novels was definitely not this. This was lost love. It was knowing that his one true love was gone. Well, to be more accurate, she was not actually gone, she was lying about 5 feet away from him in the hospital bed.

The slow, struggling movement of her breathing chest proved that she was not completely gone. As far as he knew though, she might as well have been dead. Ron immediately mentally scolded himself for thinking that terrible thought. He could never, ever wish Hermione dead. Ron knew that he ultimately would give his everything to make sure that never happened. Tears welled up in his astonishingly blue eyes as he remembered that his everything had not been enough to save her.

He tried to wipe them away, worrying that she would wake up and see him breaking down, but as his thoughts grew sadder, he couldn't help himself from letting the tears fall. He hadn't helped her or changed anything at all. Now, because he wasn't enough – he was never enough- , she could never look at him the same again and he would never see those big brown eyes spark up with the excitement of learning something new. He would never see her bushy hair become tangled in her fingers as she furiously twirled it – a constant nervous habit of hers. He would only see this fragile, broken shell of his girl. The doctor's mind shattering words from last night made that eerily true. He unwillingly remembered the previous night's events for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few hours.

_The doctor, Dr. Harrison, flipped through papers on a clip board. His lips pursed in thought and his eyebrows creased. The man then spoke, and if he hadn't put his hand gently on Ron's shoulder, Ron wouldn't even have heard. Ron broke his constant stare away from the slowly breathing body next to him and looked up through tear stained eyes at the doctor. _

"_Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry to say that Miss Granger cannot make a full recovery," Dr. Harrison whispered, seemingly afraid to go on as if Ron would murder him for bringing such news. The stunned silence from Ron was taken as a sign to continue. "She will live a full life but she will not be the same girl you remember. She has…" _

He broke from his painful memory when his love mumbled something in her sleep. God, he hoped she was dreaming of him somehow. Ron laughed at the thought. It had been his first laugh in the past few days but it did nothing to lower the weight on his shoulders, because it was a shallow, sarcastic laugh. He thought his new, unronlike laugh almost resembled Malfoy's. The laugh was only a mere shadow of his previous, hearty laugh. He secretly hoped he would never happily laugh again. He wanted to never move on, never heal. He would rather sit here in his darkest hour with her forever than even think of living a happy life without her anywhere near him. His heart broke even more- something he thought was impossible due to the pathetically shattered state it was already in- and wondered if she was even going to want him near her when she woke up.

"No," he thought, "She must want him. He would not leave until she admitted it. Until she screamed that she loved him and forced him to believe it." How vain and desperate he had become. Such a broken person he was that he would force her to remember her feelings for him, even if she no longer felt them.

Her eyelids fluttered which in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat. She was waking. He would now know if she would let him stay at all. Her sleepy gaze went from her hands, to the door across the room, and fell finally upon an anxious Ron. His heart suffered an immense blow when he received not a hug, kiss, or even smile from his beloved. He was given only a confused look, the kind of look that you only give to a stranger that has done something odd. It was not the type of look you were supposed to give your neighbor, let alone your boyfriend of 9 months.

Her words were enough to make him want to grab the nearest wand and curse himself into nothingness. "Do you know where I might find a book, sir?" she asked in a childlike voice.

It was completely different from her old, sophisticated voice that sounded like "I already know what you just told me so you wasted my time." It might seem odd that he would describe the voice he constantly dreamed about with such a negative phrase, but he had always loved the know it all part of Hermione.

The voice that had come out of her throat was not Hermione's. He could not come to love this voice as much as the old one but he would always love anything this girl did, no matter how heart breaking it was for him.

She looked a bit agitated at his lack of response and then said a little louder, "Sir, are you a doctor? I would like to have something to read pretty please." Pretty please? That was definitely something that has never crossed Hermione's lips before in front of him and he didn't know why it made him even sadder.

"Umm… no, I'm an… old friend," Ron said, smiling with fake happiness.

She obviously didn't recognize the falseness in his voice though because she replied, "Hi. I'm sorry but I don't remember you."

Surprisingly, this didn't hurt him because he knew she would eventually say it. As he looked into her big, chocolate brown eyes, he remembered the last few sentences from Dr. Harrison:

"_She will live a full life but she will not be the same girl you remember. She has lost her memory from around age ten and up. We aren't even sure if she will remember that she is a wizard. There is no way to get her memory back quickly, it may take years to remember anything at all and we aren't even sure it can occur at all. The curse Miss Granger was hit with is unheard of and is immensely dark magic. The doctors here do not want to meddle with it and I'm sorry to say that if she doesn't wake up in the next few days, we will have to take her off the oxygen machine." _

_The doctor had waited a few minutes and only received a blank, absent look from Ron, so he walked out of the room promising to return in the morning to check on her. _

"Yes, I know 'Mione. I'll be right back," he said after he snapped back to reality, trying to mask all of his emotion from her. Without looking to check her expression, he sped out of the hospital room and into the long hallways of Saint Mungo's to alert the Grangers, his own family, and the doctors of his love's awakening.


	2. Chapter 2: Half Asleep

Disclaimer: I forgot to put in the first chapter that I DO NOT own any of the characters or the setting. They all belong to J.K. Rowling. The only thing I came up with is the plot.

AN: I just wanted to point out that this story is and always will be in favor of Ron and Hermione. I will never put in anything that is being beyond platonic between Harry and Hermione. There will also be some Ginny + Harry, Luna + Neville, and Angelina + George moments though. Also, this is my first story on this website and I would absolutely love comments (good or bad). Thank you for reading my writing.

Chapter 2: Half Asleep

(Hermione's POV)

Hermione was dreaming but it all seemed so real and oddly familiar, like it was a dream that she continually had. It was so clear though, unlike all her other dreams, that never quite made sense. In this dream, she was sitting and reading a novel that she had purchased early in the day from a muggle shop. She could feel the lumpy couch- she had wanted something classic and leather but Ron insisted on having something "comfy"-beneath her and the handmade quilt on her lap, covering her legs and bare feet. She could also smell the furniture polish that she had sprayed only a half hour ago. For a moment, she stopped reading and fell into the calming and natural scent of lemon. Glancing up from her new novel, she admired the brass lamp that was providing dim light for her reading. Her mother had given it to her when Hermione moved out of her parents' house.

A knock startled her and drew her eyes to the brown door on the other side of the living room. She slowly got up and quickly made her way across the carpet to the doorknob, her slippers making muffled steps as she went. Her hand was on the knob but she couldn't turn it for some reason. She had a strange feeling that she would be better to just go back to her muggle book. She wasn't expecting anybody to visit and it was 11:30 at night, not a decent time for people to drop by unannounced. Hermione didn't understand the feeling in the pit of her stomach; she shouldn't be so afraid.

Her new home was in a muggle neighborhood many miles away from any wizarding location- the closest being The Burrow- so she shouldn't be too worried about a dark wizard popping in. Nobody besides the Weasleys, Harry, and her parents knew where she was staying anyways. More importantly, Voldemort had been defeated many months ago and the death eaters hadn't made an attack yet. Just thinking of those terrible murderers made her knees go weak and her eyes get a bit larger. She silently scolded herself for being so easily shaken and resolved to open the door on the count of 5.

"One, two, three…" she whispered in front of the door. She would've continued had she not been interrupted before she could make it to 4. The door burst off its hinges and sent Hermione flying. The visitors obviously had gotten impatient and decided to let themselves in by using magic.

Hermione's head hit the coffee table and her vision blurred for a moment. Once she stopped focusing on the bump forming on the back of her head, she saw that the intruders were indeed death eaters. On instinct, she reached for her wand in her pocket but her head hurt so much from the sudden movement that she had to close her eyes to at least slightly stop the dizziness.

That one moment of weakness is what ruined everything. When her eyes were closed she saw the dark red of her inner eyelids and a brighter red beam heading toward her. She had no time to cast a shield charm and she doubted if she would've been able to focus enough to perform it with all the pain she was feeling.

Blackness. It was all she felt and all she saw when the beam reached her. Hermione knew that she should fight the blackness and try to stay awake but it seemed so calm and inviting. Once she had given in, Hermione felt an odd sensation that she couldn't put into words. She wondered if dying would feel like this and it crossed her mind that maybe she had died.

"No," she said to herself, "I'm not dead. That beam was red, not green. So it was a curse, but not a killing curse." She laughed to herself and thought about what Ron would say if he had heard her.

"'Mione," he would say, "How can you be unconscious and still be thinking things through logically?!" A smile spread broke her serious expression until she began to wonder who Ron was.

His name had come up more than once in her dream and she could only vaguely remember the man. Was he her brother? Maybe he was a friend or a cousin? All she knew was that a bright blend of orange and red came to her mind when she spoke the name. It also seemed inviting and familiar even though he only slightly remained in her memory.

As she thought more and more about the mysterious man, the odd feeling she received when she first gave in to the blackness became stronger. Hermione could now tell it was a falling sensation. It was as if she had walked right off the edge of a building that was so tall, it allowed her to fall for days and days. She fell through the impenetrable darkness for who knows how long until she heard a laugh.

She had never heard this laugh until now. It was mean and sarcastic sounding. A white light appeared in the direction the cruel laugh had come from. She reached and stretched for it but she just couldn't reach it. She continued to grasp for what she sensed was the exit and hoped that she could ask somebody to explain the odd dream to her. She knew it had a meaning but what that meaning was, she had no idea. Eventually she gave up her feeble attempts to make it to the light and felt tears well up in her eyes. She felt as if she would never get out. She would fall and grasp for the rest of her existence- if you could even call this an existence. Her tears ran down her cheeks and she began to plead.

"Please, I want to wake up. Please," she whispered between her shaky breaths. The light floated toward her and when she reached a hand out to touch it, it did not move away. Hermione was delighted and quickly grasped onto the white mass.

She awoke in a hospital bed and stared at her hands, slowly moving her fingers to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

The first thing she saw was that almost everything was white. Even the door was white. She glanced around the room, desperate for color- all this white was beginning to make her claustrophobic. Red flashed before her eyes. The color was the same that she had felt in the blackness. It was the orange red color that seemed like home and she welcomed it because the color rid her of the claustrophobia.

Once she noticed that the mass of red was on top of somebody's head, she began to get confused. Was this that man that was from her strange dream? Maybe he would know what it meant. As soon as this thought crossed her mind though, she quickly dispersed it. By the clueless look on the young man's face, she guessed that he wouldn't know. Since Hermione sensed that he would be of no direct help, she asked him for the next best thing- a book.

"Do you know where I might find a book, sir?" she asked in what she meant to be a sweet voice but sounded more childish than she would've liked.

Hermione immediately felt guilty when the man's face fell and his eyes screamed of sorrow. Had she said something to offend this person? Her guilt was soon replaced by agitation. She wasn't sure exactly why, but this bloke was acting as if she did something wrong. All she had done was ask a simple question and he suddenly became all emotional. She was the one who should be upset. Here she wakes up from a terrible dream, can't remember anything, and this guy gets depressed over a question. What was with him? Hermione didn't think that she usually was so short tempered- not that she remembered all that much about herself though- but this guy seemed to wind her up fairly easily.

She tried to hide her agitation and chose to ask as nicely as she could. "Sir, are you a doctor? I would like to have something to read pretty please."

Her cheeks flushed as she realized that she had just said pretty please. Everything was so confusing. She felt as if she knew this man and should address him like a friend, but she couldn't remember him. She couldn't even remember herself. All she knew was that she was Hermione Something Granger and she was some type of magic being- her middle name and what she was exactly seemed to have slipped her mind. Hermione felt like she should be sophisticated and intelligent but for some odd reason, she wanted to flirt with this man. She grimaced when she thought that her best flirting technique was to say 'pretty please' and decided to check out a book on relationships while she was reading about the meaning dreams. That was one of the few things she could remember, her love of knowledge. It was a comfort to know that one thing remained certain in her head and she suddenly felt incredibly fond of books and libraries.

Before she could dive into her thoughts even more, the young man said, "Umm… no, I'm an… old friend."

Well at least she had another thing right. She knew this man somehow. Memories of him still wouldn't come to her though and she replied, "Hi. I'm sorry but I don't remember you."

She felt terrible saying that she didn't remember anything at all. She felt feeble and lost. Why was everything so mixed up in her head? It almost felt as if she was half asleep and couldn't fully wake up.

"Yes, I know 'Mione. I'll be right back," the man said while he stood up and walked out into the hallway, not even looking at her.

As soon as he left, she realized how much his presence had comforted her. The claustrophobia came rushing back and she had to lay down. She did not close her eyes though, since she remembered what happened the last time she did that. She focused her eyes one the bright, white ceiling above her instead.

"It was a dream you idiot," she mumbled to herself. "It wasn't real, no matter how much it seemed like it."

She waited there for what seemed like hours, though she knew it hadn't been that long. The whole time she thought about that red haired boy. She thought about how much it meant for him to just stand next to her bed. She didn't like how much she seemed to depend on him but she knew that she would have to live with it for a while because she didn't want him to leave her in all this dull white. She needed that beacon of flaming red hair to keep this nausea away. She would ask this Ron person- if that was even his name- to stay with her for a while once he returned.


	3. Chapter 3: Many Questions, Few Answers

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own the Harry Potter series, I do not. The characters and most of the setting belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and I am not trying to steal her work. The only thing that is mine is the plot.

AN: Well, as you can tell, I am going to be updating this story a lot. I am new to this and I'm kind of addicted. So there won't be much of a wait between chapters for a while. Also, if you would like to leave a comment about this story, it would be greatly appreciated (I live for comments). I don't mind if they are good or bad and I really want you guys to tell me if you think the plot should go a certain way. I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this story and I would like to have your help since I'm writing this for all of you.

Many Questions, Few Answers

(Hermione's POV)

The wait seemed to go on forever and Hermione's body began to relax. Her back sank into the mattress and her shoulders dropped. Just as she was losing herself to sleep, she came to her senses. She bolted upward so strongly that she jostled the bed. She did not want to live that dream over again. It was already so vivid and etched into her mind that she didn't think she would ever need a reminder of anything that happened in it.

Hermione began to worry about that red haired man; he had been gone for quite some time now. She didn't understand why, but she felt needy of him. All she knew was that his presence meant comfort.

As if he had heard her thoughts, his flaming head popped into the room and said, "'Mione, the doctor is coming and once he is done, I have some people that want a word with you."

She heard what he had said but it took a few moments to process it since she had been marveling at how relieving he could be by simply poking his head through the door. Once it sunk in that others would be coming to confuse her even more, her expression fell. Her face was lit up once more when she finally noticed what the man was carrying. He had a copy of the newspaper. Her hands automatically reached for it and she realized that the carrier hadn't come out of the doorway yet.

"Did you bring that for me?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to ask for it incase he brought it for himself.

"What? Oh, right, yea. I did," he spluttered as if he had just woken out of a captivating daydream. He made his way to her bedside and the fluttering in her stomach did not cease when he sat on the edge of her bed. With the newspaper held out to her, he said, "Here, it's today's Daily Prophet."

Hermione did not question the odd, moving pictures on the newspaper; she must still be dizzy. After she had taken it and glanced down on the cover story, Hermione realized that it was not her symptoms making the little people in the pictures move around. How was that even possible? The last time she had read a newspaper, the pictures were stationary and boring, certainly not alive. Maybe she had been asleep so long that moving pictures had been invented.

Before she could ask how long she was unconscious for, greedy hands grabbed the reading material from her. The person that had taken the oddity from her grasp turned on the spot toward the bright haired man. "Mr. Weasley!" he yelled, "You should have contacted me as soon as my patient woke up! There must be twenty people in the waiting room asking to see Miss Granger! I did _not_ approve of visitors! This is a complete-"

Hermione was not able to hear what this situation was completely though because the young man began to defend himself. He towered over the doctor, almost a foot taller, and the little man took a step backward. "I don't need your permission to call my own bloody family! They have been worried about Hermione and that's more than I can say about you! All you care about is your bleedin' paycheck! Now shut it and check on her!" he bellowed, pointing his finger at her. Hermione was taken aback by his fowl language and the way he defended her. His eyes had such dark circles under them that he must not have slept for days. Hermione wondered if his lack of sleep had something to do with her. She suddenly felt an odd want to hold him in thanks. She wanted to thank him for being there when she woke up and staying when she barely knew him.

The doctor acted as if he would've liked to argue, but cleared his throat and calmly replied instead. "Fine, I will take a look at the patient now _sir_," he spat the last word and Hermione felt it took a lot from him to not shout.

The short, black haired doctor walked over so that he was looming over her body. He was so close that she could smell coffee from his breath and see the individual hairs in his moustache. She backed up a little, not wanting to be this close to a man she just met. The doctor pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and flashed it in Hermione's eyes. She shut her eyes from the unwelcome ray of light until she was asked to keep them open. Grudgingly, she opened her eyes and kept still even though her eyes were well past watering.

Finally, the little man stopped flashing the light and began to quiz her. "Do you know who you are?" he asked, his tone indicating that he did not expect her to answer correctly.

_This man thinks I'm daft, she thought to herself. I know I'm tired and still half asleep, but I know my own name for goodness sakes._

"Hermione Granger," she stated in a know it all voice, as if to say "why are you asking this, it is obvious I know." Many different expressions were in the room. Hermione looked offended that a doctor was asking her preschool level questions, the doctor looked astonished that she knew the answer to such an easy question- this look seemed familiar, maybe she got it at school a lot or something -, and the red head looked like he had never been this proud. His pride emanated from him and made Hermione blush.

"Good job miss. Now, where are you?" the doctor asked, a little more hopeful this time.

Sadly, Hermione couldn't impress them with her knowledge once more. She honestly didn't know. Well, she knew she was in some type of hospital, but which one was a complete mystery to her. An even bigger mystery was why she was here.

"I don't know," she whispered. Her heart fell when the pride was wiped from her visitor's face and was replaced by anguish. He looked so defeated and she hated herself for being the cause of it. How was she supposed to know the answer though?

"You, my dear, are in Saint Mungo's hospital," was all the doctor told her.

She felt that he could've said something much more helpful so she could not contain from saying, louder than needed, "Well, thank you for that piece of information but I would rather like to know _why_ I'm here. I would like to be the one asking the questions and I believe I should be, since I'm the one who woke up in a strange room and can't remember anything." With her arms crossed and her lips pursed, she stared at the two men in her room, hoping to make them answer her question.

"That is exactly why you are here. You can't remember anything from age ten until now. You lost your memory when a curse hit you and we need to know how much you remember. Now if you please, tell us what you know about yourself."

This was a very difficult question for Hermione since she didn't really know much. "Umm… well I know I have a mom and dad that live in Britain with me. I love reading more than anything. I think I'm… magic. Wait, I'm sorry, that's crazy. Things like that don't exist. I think if you would let me think for a while, I might be able to remember something else," she said, staring at the white wall in front of her so she wouldn't see the shocked looks of everybody when they realized she thought she was magic. They would throw her into a mental hospital for sure now. Quickly, she stuttered, "I-I'm not crazy. I-I swear. I'm just confused."

She chanced a glance at the doctor and to her amazement, he was smiling. He was smiling at her insanity. What he said next made her wonder if he was the crazy one though. "You _are_ a witch my dear. We didn't know if you would remember it. You're actually a very good witch, very powerful. At some point, we would like to see how powerful you still are."

_Wait, she thought, is he saying that I'm not crazy? I really am a witch? Ok Hermione, just go along with it and you'll find somebody who isn't mentally deranged later._

"You remember more than we expected you to, but you certainly don't remember much. Mr. Weasley, I'll let you talk to her alone. People seem to think she will know you still. Contact me after the family has visited with her and we can discuss how long she needs to stay here," the doctor said, clearly happier now than he was when he first came in.

"Thank you Dr. Harrison, I will," the Weasley man said.

Hermione became rather annoyed at the both of them. They were talking about her as if she couldn't hear. She might be a little confused, it was early after all, but she was not stupid. She could still hear the both of them. As soon as Dr. Harrison left the room, she spat at the boy, "I am not daft! I can hear you still so don't talk like I'm not here. I should be a part of the discussion since I'm the one you're talking about."

A smile broke into the man's face and this did nothing to lessen the confusion Hermione was feeling. He whispered more to himself than to her, "You have no idea how scared I was that I wouldn't hear you get mad at me anymore." He smiled even more and Hermione's agitation melted away.

"That's absolutely daft of you to miss arguing. You're supposed to miss happy things," she said matter-of-factly.

He chuckled and said, "Yes, I know. You like to argue with me too though," his smile broke when he said this and when he continued, all hints of happiness were gone, "Well, you used to…"

For the second time that morning, she hated herself for hurting him. She wanted nothing more than to apologize and be forgiven. She knew that at this moment, arguing was the last thing she wanted to do. Hermione did not voice this opinion incase it would hurt him even more.

"Err… I guess I should tell you about me now…" he began, "I'm Ron Weasley and I've known you since I was eleven. We went to wizarding school together and we… um… traveled abroad in our final year with Harry Potter."

She knew he wanted to say more but she was thankful that he didn't. She actually didn't really hear anything after he said his name. This _was_ the Ron in her dream, the one that wouldn't leave her alone, even when she was unconscious. Hermione was dying to ask about the dream and spill her heart out to this man, but she knew this was neither the time nor the place to do so.

Hermione was at a loss for words- something that was becoming more and more common lately- and only thought of one thing to ask. "Who has come to visit me?" was her question.

"My family, your family, and Harry Potter," Ron said, as if she knew who all those people were.

"Hey, you can come in now! I know you've been listening!" he bellowed. For one awkward moment she thought he was yelling at her. Before she could accuse him of being off his rocker though, a sea of orange flooded into her room.

There must have been at least 10 people crowded around her little hospital bed. On her right, was a teenage, redheaded girl that was staring at her very intensely, like she was trying to read her expression to the fullest.

So many redheaded men of scattered ages talked in deep voices all around her. The tallest had a pony tail that a plump woman was trying to snip at with scissors. A boy with horn-rimmed glasses was defending the tallest from the woman with a charm from his wand as well as vocabulary that would astonish even a college professor. If this occurred under any other circumstances, Hermione would've burst out laughing at the comical scene before her, but she was much too confused to think of the situation as funny now.

There was also an adult with muscled arms and scars that he was obviously not trying to hide since he had a tight muscle shirt on. The oldest of them all- he might have been around 50 years old-, was reading the daily prophet that the doctor had thrown to the floor earlier that day. The last redhead seemed to not quite fit in with the others. He was staring out the window with remorse written across his face. This boy looked so much like the rest of the family but acted distant from them. Her heart went out to this outsider but she knew nothing to say to cheer him up- she had just met him after all.

On her left were the only two people she recognized- her mother and father. They were holding hands and looking at her with worried glances. They looked so relieved when she smiled up at them in a way that said "I'm ok, I'm confused, but ok."

Lastly, there was a black haired boy with bright green eyes. His eyes were made brighter by his glasses. These eyes glanced from Hermione to the girl on Hermione's right. He seemed to want to talk to Hermione but was drawn to the other girl like iron to a magnet.

All this information was being shoved into Hermione's head so quickly and she searched for the one thing that seemed real- Ron. He was nowhere to be seen though. He had left during all the chaos. He had left her without an explanation, with all these strangers.


	4. Chapter 4: Shattered

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its characters, spells, and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I only create stories based off of her incredible books.

AN: I want to thank Avanell for commenting on all of the chapters so far. I really appreciate it. Also, to everybody else who has read this story, please please leave comments. I love them and they are the only way I can tell if my story is good or not. You can praise my writing, critique it, or recommend something to be put in a future chapter. It would mean so much to me to hear from you all.

Shattered

(Ron's POV)

Ron closed his eyes and listened to the steady rush of water. He felt its cool touch on his palms, as he tried to clear his head. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he caught some of the chilly liquid and splashed it up into his face. He stared at his reflection in the shiny mirror. His eyes had the darkest circles he had ever seen under them and his now damp, flaming red hair was messy as usual. His expression was what drew his attention though. He looked terrible and lost. He could not recall a time when he looked less like himself. This was the new Ron though. He had been held together by his friends, and now that they were gone, he was utterly alone. Harry had been so busy since the defeat of Voldemort with interviews and speeches that he was rarely at The Burrow. Harry was in a different squad at Auror training, so the friends didn't see each other there either. Hermione was the only one that had stayed with him and helped him cope with the death of his brother. But now she was the one who needed help. How could he help to fix her when he needed to be mended too?

He had run out of her hospital room only moments ago. He knew he should've stayed to introduce her to his enormous family and keep an eye on her, but he couldn't. It was all too much. He thought having his family there would make things better, help her to remember. Now he knew he was wrong. The blank and confused look she had when she saw them was the same look that strangers gave the family when they saw the huge mass of redheads on the street. It was not the way his girlfriend was supposed to look at his family. What was he expecting though? Was he such a twit that he thought she would run up and hug them when they came in? Yes. That was exactly what he had expected. Whenever Hermione looked at his family before, she always did it with a smile and a tight embrace. Never once had she just stared at them.

Ron slowly reached out and turned the water off, not wanting to waste any more. He looked around the spotless bathroom in Saint Mungo's and tried to forget the scene from moments ago. His family had acted so natural and normal. It was as if they didn't realize his world was collapsing around him. How could they bicker and talk when Hermione had been taken from him? Why were they acting as if all was well in the world when it was surely ending by now?

Anger swept over Ron and wouldn't let go of him. It was anger at his family for not breaking down and mourning with him. He even felt angry at Hermione. How could she do this to him? Why couldn't she have defended herself like she always did? She could help Harry defeat bloody Voldemort but a simple death eater was out of her ability! Most of all though, he was angry at himself.

He hadn't been home when the death eaters attacked. He could've saved her from this. If he hadn't been so busy with Auror training, Ron wouldn't be here right now and neither would Hermione. Ron picked up the nearest object- a glass soap dish- and threw it into the wall, getting a small sense of satisfaction when its jagged remains hit the tile floor.

He was never of any use to Harry, Hermione, or his family and he never would be. No matter what people said, he did nothing to thwart Voldemort and rarely was able to protect his loved ones. Ron was always in last place. Never as brave as Harry, as smart as Hermione or Percy, as handsome as Charlie, as popular as Bill, as funny as the twins, or as athletic as Ginny. That was him, never the winner, never the best. His only purpose seemed to be making others look good.

The next thing he took his anger out on was the bathroom stall door. He kicked it with such force that it bent inward. Destruction seemed to be one of the few things he was good at. Destruction and running away. He had run away from his friends before, just as he had now. He had left them when the hunt for horcruxes was getting too difficult. He had always been so weak. He wasn't able to handle it all then and he couldn't handle it now either. So that's why he ran out on Hermione ten minutes ago. Things had gotten a little hard again and Ron Weasley just couldn't take it as usual. He grimaced at how pathetic he was compared to everybody else.

His eyes went from the broken remains of the soap dish to his reflection, now contorted with hate of himself. He now knew how to describe the face that was looking back at him. Shattered. That's what he had become- broken remains of a person.

Now that he had a strange connection with the soap dish, he felt terrible for smashing it. He quickly drew out his wand, muttered a repairing spell, and placed the brand new looking dish gently on the counter next to the sink. Since he already had his wand out, he fixed the bent door as well.

Now everything else was fixed except him. He felt out of place in the perfectly clean bathroom. Once he glanced at himself in the mirror once more to check if he was at least a little presentable and then decided he would look like a git no matter what, he walked out of the bathroom. He headed toward a floor-length window in the hospital hallway.

Ron stood there and gazed out the window at the sea of green grass two stories below. He wondered if he could be fixed as easily as the soap dish. He was certainly broken as easily as it had been. Ron had never realized before that his existence meant nothing without Hermione. How much he wished he could have protected her. Another sad thought occurred to him. He was not protecting her now. He should be in that hospital room, comforting her and telling her who all those people are.

Ron ran down the corridor to his beloved's room and before he turned the gold knob and entered the room, he vowed to at least hold his shattered self together for Hermione. As he was engulfed by the bright white of the room, an honest grin spread across his freckled face. Things might seem unbearable now, but that just meant that they couldn't get any worse. It was the first comforting thought Ron had had in a while and it made him feel as if maybe he wasn't as useless as he felt.


	5. Chapter 5: Truth and Introductions

Disclaimer: Sadly, Harry Potter is not mine whatsoever. The incredible J.K. Rowling is the owner of all the characters, and many of the locations.

Author's Note: I just wanted to say thank you so much to all the people who commented on, favorited, story alerted, or read any of my other chapters (a special thanks goes to Avanell for commenting on every chapter). Please, please, please comment everybody! I am an aspiring author and comments are what help to motivate me (they also help me update faster *wink, wink*).

Truth and Introductions

(Hermione's POV)

Hermione had just been told that she had lost all memory of the past eight years of her life and she honestly didn't know if she believed this insanity or not. On one hand, there were all these people that seemed vaguely familiar and a certified doctor had been the one to bring her the devastating news. Hermione had always trusted authority and those who were presented with it, but today she wasn't sure how Dr. Harrison could possibly be right. She would certainly remember her own family. Was it even possible that her friends and relatives had actually slipped her mind? If they didn't, then who were these redheads crowding in her room? Hermione felt incomplete and lost, not knowing the correct answer. Even in her early years, she had always been the one to know the solution in a heart beat, while others were left clueless. This switch of roles was what really unnerved Hermione.

Here she was, in an unfamiliar room with a horde of strangers making as much commotion as humanly possible, stopping her from concentrating on her problem properly. To make matters worse, she had been intently stared at for the past several minutes by a teenage girl. Hermione did not actually see the girl staring, but she could feel the unblinking eyes boring into the side of her head. Eventually, when Hermione couldn't pretend to not notice any longer, she turned to face her observer in the eyes and saw herself reflected in the shiny, caramel brown irises.

Hermione's eyes widened like a deer's in headlights and her jaw hit the floor when she looked into the big, brown eyes that reflected her shocked expression. Her heart plummeted and she finally knew that the doctor had spoken the truth. Eight years really had passed without her memory. Hermione moved closer without meaning to, and the girl nervously backed away, obviously frightened by Hermione's sudden reaction. It must be a trick. There was no way that she could fall asleep a sweet, innocent ten year old and wake up as a full grown woman. It was simply not possible.

Panicking, Hermione bounded off the bed in search of the nearest reflective surface. Finding nothing suitable, she practically screamed, her voice cracking at the end, "I need a mirror now! Please!" Every person in the room was now facing her, and she could see the worried expressions on their faces, as if she had lost her mind completely. She honestly didn't care what they thought though. She needed to know the truth, and she needed it now or she really would go crazy. There would be time for some embarrassed apologies later.

The redhead with the horn-rimmed glasses that had been defending his pony tailed relative earlier muttered something that Hermione did not recognize from any language while twirling a slender piece of wood. A few sparks flew out of the end of the stick and a slight popping noise could be heard through the awkward silence. A full body mirror appeared out of thin air and stood in the place where the noise had emanated from, reflecting the afternoon light coming in from the hospital window. No questions were asked about its magical appearance though, and Hermione doubted if she would have gotten a reasonable answer if she had asked.

Seven hurried steps took her in front of the mirror and she stood there in awed silence, her arms outstretched so her fingers barely touched the smooth surface. She scrunched up her nose and the woman reflected at her copied her motion flawlessly. Becoming afraid, Hermione wiggled her fingers and shook her mass of brown, bushy hair. The reflection did the same. As a last effort, Hermione wiggled her ears, something that few people knew she could do. Her motion was perfectly mimicked and Hermione was forced to conclude that this was indeed her own reflection staring back at her.

She looked so different, and it was hard to accept the changes. Hermione noticed how she was about 10 inches taller and that her hair had become slightly less bushy- it was still a frizzy mess though- and she smiled. The smile turned into a look of shock when she saw her teeth. Her overbite was gone! The enormous two front teeth that she had cursed throughout her entire childhood had been replaced by white, average sized ones. She must've had braces sometime in the missing eight years, fixing her smile. Not able to stop grinning now, she noticed the small bump on her chest and blushed. She had certainly grown a womanly, hourglass figure.

Before she could continue pointing out the many differences, somebody cleared a throat across the room. It was Ron. He had come back, and now she knew he wasn't insane. She quickly stepped away from the mirror, wondering how long he had been standing there since she probably had looked pretty idiotic, shaking and making faces to test her own reflection.

"Finally noticed, have you?" he asked, smiling in the doorway. Without meaning to, she noted how his bright hair became even more alluring when the sun hit it, showing the many different shades of orange and red that blended together to make the bright mass of hair. There was a little dimple mixed in with the freckles on his left cheek that flashed when he smiled, something that she hadn't payed attention to earlier. She tried to resist the urge to smile, failing miserably as a wide grin spread across her flushed cheeks.

"Uhh, yea," she replied, her mind far from the conversation.

"I hope they didn't rough you up too bad," he said, tilting his head in the direction of his family.

"Oh, shut it," said the young girl, trying to cover up her obvious smile.

"Now both of you, hush," said the short and round woman. She had curly red hair like her children and her summery, flowered dress was covered by a faded apron. Hermione was reminded of the old black and white TV shows where a sweet stay-at-home mother wore an apron and cooked all day long for her many offspring. She didn't realize that Mrs. Weasley was actually very close to this comparison.

Stepping out of the hallway and into the room, he went to stand by the others. "This, as you've probably figured out, is my family. They're my mum, dad, older brothers, and little sister. This is Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ginny," he stated, pointing to each of the Weasleys in turn. Hermione had a fantastic knack for memorization but felt that she would need to be reminded many more times of these names before she would have them down pat. The only name that had stuck in her mind was George. He had been the one staring intently at the window, ignoring the chaos surrounding him. How he could be so quiet while the rest of his siblings were loud and outgoing was a mystery to her. The look of deep mourning puzzled her even further, since none of the other Weasleys seemed to be grieving.

This left only the black haired boy with glasses to be unidentified. He certainly wasn't related to the crowd of redheads, since he lacked the hair, freckles, and height that all the males seemed to have. He was not part of her immediate family- that she was sure of. Her confusion must have been apparent because the boy rubbed the back of his neck nervously, averting his eyes from her.

"Oh, this here is my best mate, Harry. The one I mentioned earlier," Ron said, walking over to Harry and brotherly swatting his upper back.

The friendly gesture and kind words formed a shy smile on the boy's face, making his green eyes sparkle even more behind his spectacles.

A nurse walked into the room at that moment to remind the large gathering that according to hospital policy, only two people were allowed to visit a single patient at one time. Quickly, the nurse traced an invisible pattern in the air with her own rod of wood, making the mirror disappear without any evidence of its former existence.

Her mother, holding back the tears that were threatening to flow, hugged Hermione and quickly left the room to try and hide her sharp sobs. Mrs. Granger could not hide the sounds though, and the room was filled with the gasps and sudden breaths of her uncontrollable weeping. Her father gave a more firm hug, as he softly promised her that he would see her soon, after she felt well enough for visitors.

Before Hermione could say that she felt perfectly fine now, she was nearly suffocated by the plump woman. The hug was so tight that it felt as if Hermione's lungs were being crushed. She didn't mind though because she could tell it was meant to show love, and Hermione hugged back, trying to convey to her that the message had been received.

A quick pat on the back was given by the oldest male. The others exited with either small nods or waves, leaving her alone with Ron once again.

Hermione collapsed on the mattress and let her head sink into the pillow. It had only been a few hours since she woke but Hermione felt as if she had been up for days on end. Ron sat in the seat next to the nightstand, the same red upholstered chair he had been in when she first saw him in the morning.

"You look so tired," slipped out her mouth when she gazed at his exhausted form. Hermione was just about to apologize, since that comment could be taken as an insult, when Ron chuckled.

"Yea, I probably do. I haven't had a good night's sleep in about a week," he said with a slight smile. He waved off her concerned look and simply said, "I'm fine. Don't worry."

She flashed him an exasperated look that said "of course I'm going to worry" and Ron laughed once more, filling Hermione's insides with cheery warmth. She was glad to be making him smile for once instead of worrying him. It was a nice change of pace. Turning on her side to look at him, she asked something that had been on her mind all afternoon.

"Am I really… a… witch?" she asked, wanting to word it better but not knowing how.

"Yes. You're actually the best witch I know. You were called the smartest young witch of our age a few years ago," Ron answered, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he looked into her eyes, making her self conscious.

For some odd reason, Hermione believed him. The voice of reason in the back of her head was practically screaming that it was all impossible, but she couldn't help trusting this bloke. Now that she knew that he really was an old friend, she put more faith in him than she did the doctor. Hermione felt that the old her would've done the same.

"Would you mind if I took a quick nap?" Hermione asked, trying to fake tiredness. She knew that the only way he would sleep was if she fell asleep first. She was determined to let him rest up and was willing to pretend to dream peacefully in order to do so - actually sleeping was out of the question since the haunting dream still frightened her.

Ron yawned and nodded, sinking lower into the worn chair. Hermione did not have to fake dreaming for long- Ron was out cold in a matter of minutes. Enjoying the soft feel of the mattress under her tired body, she tried with all of her ability to remember something, anything from the past. Unable to do so after half an hour of nonstop attempts, she settled for staring at the redhead's content face next to her, wondering what sort of dreams he was having.


	6. Chapter 6: Back to the Burrow

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which belongs to J.K. Rowling, and I am not making a profit off of this story. The Notebook belongs to Nicholas Sparks and it is only mentioned in the story because it was the first 'muggle' romance novel that came to my mind.

AN: I just wanted to say that this chapter is where the story really starts. The previous 5 chapters have basically been background for the actual story, since I felt odd beginning it at this point. I apologize if the plot has seemed slow so far, I promise to do my best to keep it more interesting. Seeing as this is where everything begins, the chapters will be much longer and there might be a little bit of a longer wait between chapters. I've done 5 chapters this week and since more thought will be put into the following ones, there might only be one or two new ones per week. Also, this is going to be a hardcore Hermione and Ron fanfiction. I know it has lacked in strong, romantic moments between the couple so far, but I promise it will evolve to that point eventually. I'm not going to have any intense, physically romantic scenes any time soon obviously. At the moment, it will be more emotionally romantic. Please be patient with me though, it will hopefully be worth the wait I am an aspiring author and I live for reviews. Criticism is greatly appreciated. I am here to improve my writing and reviews help to make that happen. Lastly, I tried to find how old Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were when the war ended, but I can't find it. Does anybody know how old they would all be around 10 months after the defeat of Voldemort? Thank you for reading so far and please, please continue to do so. Enjoy!

Back to the Burrow

(Ron's POV)

For the second time that day, Ron awoke, sinking into the soft cushions of a red armchair, next to his beloved's bedside. This time though, she was not in that infamous slumber. On the contrary, she was awake, staring at him. Her warm, caramel brown eyes were calmly penetrating his icy blue ones as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Ron could feel his ears flush just as brightly as the rest of his face when he noticed the strong intensity in which she gazed. Hermione, apparently just becoming aware that he was awake, blushed furiously and quickly shifted her gaze to her hands.

"Why were you awake?" he asked, after a few moments of awkward silence. He was confused at the circumstances in which he woke - she was supposed to be the one resting up, not him.

Her puzzled expression told him that he had asked his question too directly. "Umm… what I mean is, didn't you say you were tired?"

Still a bit pink from the earlier scene, she nervously replied, "Well I… err… woke up a little while ago and I didn't want to wake you."

Ron smiled. She always had been a terrible liar. He could tell from the way she spoke that she clearly never had been tired. Somebody who hadn't been in love with Hermione for his/her entire life might not notice the slight difference in her tone. His many years of secret adoration and observation of all that she did, had given him something nobody else could see about her. In his eyes, it made the bond between them even stronger, since he could almost read her mind anytime she spoke. He knew he was one of the few people that could read her voice this easily, and he took pride in it. He wasn't even sure that Harry or Ginny, her best friends, could do it.

The only explanation he could come up with was that she pretended to be sleepy to get him some needed rest. Ron's smile broadened at the thought. Perhaps she at least had some friendly feelings left for him - he dared not hope for more than that.

Breaking into his thoughts, Dr. Harrison walked into the small room. "I heard you were awake, Mr. Weasley, I would like a word with you about Miss Granger," he announced, his eyes glued to the clipboard in his hands.

Remembering Hermione's reaction last time the two had spoken about her condition without including her, Ron said, "Oh yes, of course doctor. Come on 'Mione, you need to be a part of this." When Hermione's face lit up, he knew he had done the right thing.

Dr. Harrison disagreed though and quickly made it clear. He said, shooting an annoyed look in Ron's direction, "Excuse me, sir, but the patient is in no proper state to be discussing this. She needs to-"

"_The patient_ is in a good enough state to hear every word you say and she _will_ join the conversation this time if you don't want to be sued. The law clearly states that a patient has the right to discuss his or her condition with a doctor," Hermione threatened, with a tone she had used in her school days for scolding young Ron and Harry about unfinished homework assignments.

Ron did not have the heart to tell her that muggle law didn't exactly apply to the wizarding world, and Dr. Harrison obviously felt the same way. Wearing an exasperated expression, he moved to Hermione's bedside and motioned for Ron to stand up.

Once the two men were both standing on her right side, the doctor said, facing Hermione, "About the matter of retrieving memories. Some may be triggered by familiar scenarios. For example, if on your 15th birthday, you were given a shirt by your mother, and tomorrow your mother handed you that shirt, you might remember your 15th birthday. Another hypothesis we have about it, is that it all might be random. You could be eating breakfast 5 months from now and remember your 15th birthday. All of this is speculation, but it is my honest opinion that it will be a mixture of both. Let me warn you though, we recommend you don't force the memories to come back. It is best to let them come of their own accord. Trying to reenact scenes from your past to trigger memories could permanently harm your brain. Also, Mr. Weasley, please do not try to mess with her condition by using magic, it may be with good intentions, but it will not turn out well for either of you."

Ron's face heated up to an unnatural color when the doctor spoke this last sentence. Did he really think that he would perform magic on her that was not 100% safe? Before Ron could yank the bushy moustache from that toad's face, Hermione gave him a warning look. He tried his best to let it go, and unclench his tightened fists.

"We understand doctor," Hermione responded professionally.

"Now, Miss Granger, there is no more we can do for you here, so I see no reason why you aren't able to leave. The Burrow, your parents' and your own flat are all options you may consider. You may leave today if you wish, but I will need to be informed of your whereabouts. So where will you be staying?"

Ron hadn't thought that there would be any discussion about where she would stay. He could feel the panic rising up in him as he thought about Hermione staying at her parents', where more dark wizards could pop up at any time, and take her away from him forever this time. He would not hear of it. Ron's voice broke into the room, the fear that he felt was barely noticeable, "Well of course you're coming to the Burrow. Being alone at your own flat won't do anybody any good. There won't be anything to trigger any memories there. You've only been in the place for a few weeks. Your parents' house won't hold many memories either; you have been at Hogwarts for most of the past few years. The Burrow, I mean blimey, we've all spent so much time there, and it must be full of stuff to remember. What about more death eaters coming too? The safest place is the Burrow. I'm _not_ letting you stay without protection, 'Mione. Please come to the Burrow, please."

Ron was embarrassed at how pleading he sounded, but he really needed her to come and stay with him and his family. He wanted to be there for her at all times and protect her as much as he could. He needed to make up for not being there when the death eaters attacked. Ron wanted her to be safe and comfortable, but even more, he wanted her to be safe and comfortable with him. After coming so close to losing her, he wanted to hang on as tight as he could to her.

"I really don't want to stay alone, and if my parents' house isn't safe, I don't want to be there either. I think the Burrow is where I'm going to stay for a while," Hermione said in a definite tone. Ron was so relieved that he literally let out of a sigh of relief and laughed to himself for no apparent reason. Nothing could stop the grin that shone on his freckled face, and it doubled in size when Hermione beamed back at him.

"Very well then, you may pack your things and I will contact you soon for a checkup," Dr. Harrison said with an honest smile upon his cheeks.

Ron and Hermione watched the little man leave along with the tension he brought with him. Ron couldn't help but stare in awe at Hermione as she looked around the room, seemingly confused. He couldn't believe how incredible she was. As smart and reasonable as she was, she would go off with a bunch of complete strangers if her gut feeling told her to. He was just glad that her gut feeling sided with him this time. His adoration only greatened when a beam of sunlight hit her, making her beautiful eyes sparkle and her curly mass of hair shine. He heard her say something to him, but he was too lost in his thought of her to understand it. Snapping her fingers impatiently in front of his face, she said, "Hello? Ronald?"

She received his undivided attention at the sound of his full name, making her smile slightly. "What did he mean when he said to pack my things? I haven't brought anything," she asked, the confused way in which she had looked around the room now making sense to Ron.

"Oh well, after I made sure you were fine a few days ago, I stopped by your flat to pick up a few things for you. For, you know, when you woke up and didn't have anything to do," he shyly responded. Ron didn't know why he felt so coy about it. It was if he was back in fifth year and was embarrassed about every little thing that might show a glimpse of his true feelings for Hermione. He did not want to go back to that. He didn't want the awkward feeling between them once more, but he also didn't want to be as flirty as he was a few weeks ago when they were passionately in love. She didn't even remember that they were going out. Were they even going out any more? They hadn't broken up, but he didn't know if losing your memory of your boyfriend meant you were broken up. He definitely didn't want to ask though. Ron had resolved a few days back to not tell her of their relationship, at least until she had shown even a slight inkling of feelings for him.

"Oh, well, thank you," she quietly said, "Umm… where are they?"

Feeling a bit stupid for not showing her as soon as he mentioned it, he walked over to the trunk in the corner. Ron gripped the white handle and lifted the trunk with ease – roughing it with Harry Potter and fighting off dark wizards for a year had strengthened his arms, something Hermione used to fawn over. Ron could have easily carried the items from the chest to her bed, but he vainly wanted her to notice his muscles, like she used to. He released the heavy, metal case next to her on the bed, making the bed creak from the added weight. He quickly undid the lock with a wave of his wand and began to empty the contents onto the bed. First, he placed a few books before her and she speedily scooped one of them up, eager for reading material. Next came two velvet boxes. He added the famous small, beaded bag to the pile and was about to sit down and explain the items when he noticed a small and golden rimmed picture frame, still lying in the box. Ron knew he could not show Hermione the picture quite yet, and checked to make sure she was still occupied with the books before he swished his slender wand, transporting it to his bedroom floor at the Burrow.

Ron heaved the trunk up once more and set it back in the corner of the white room. After making his way to her bedside once more, he sat down next to her, the mess of objects in her lap.

He pointed to the first book and said, "This is some muggle romance you've been obsessively reading for the past few days. It's called The Notebook, I think," Ron quickly checked the title to confirm his guess and then continued, "Yea, I found it on your night stand. I thought you'd want one of those sappy romances you love." A smile played at both of their faces.

"This here," he said, taking the book that she was currently holding, "Is a book in ancient runes. I don't really know what it's about though, I can't read the title. You used to love to read them, and I thought you might like to learn the language again." He flipped through the pages, showing her the strange symbols inside.

Ron waited a few minutes before continuing – Hermione was flipping through the ancient runes book with intense interest. Once she had seemed to have enough with the second book, he pointed to the final one and said, "This is The Tales of Beetle and Bard. You spent a lot of time studying it while we were...uhh…backpacking with Harry a year ago and I thought it might bring back a few memories. They're stories wizards tell their kids. Kind of like those muggle ones. Oh what were they called…" Ron said, furrowing his brow as he tried hard to remember the titles, "Oh yea! Stories like Snowing White or Beauty and the Feast." Ron proudly grinned at how he had remembered the titles he was told of by Harry so long ago.

Hermione burst out laughing and managed to correct Ron between giggles. Blushing, Ron rubbed the back of his neck, all hints of pride gone. Hermione stopped giggling when Ron's face fell and said to him, "I'm sorry. Could you tell me what this is?"

Ron looked at the small velvet case she was pointing to, and opened it up. Her eyes widened when she saw the gold charm bracelet. Her mouth formed a small O shape and she reached out toward the box. Ron let her take it in her hands and admire the charms – a witch hat, a snake, a wolf-like dog, a trophy, the letters DA, a book, and a heart shape.

Ron explained, "I gave it to you when the war ended and-," He was cut off when Hermione's head spun around to face him and she shot a concerned look at him.

"There was a war?! Is everybody ok?" she asked, worry in her eyes. Ron's heart melted when he saw her honest concern. She was this worried about a bunch of strangers getting hurt.

"Yes, Hermione, everybody is ok now. We lost some good people but-," his voice cracked when he thought of Fred, and he began to tear up. _No,_ he thought,_ I won't do this now. I have to keep it together._

Getting a hold of himself, he cleared his throat and continued, "We lost some good people but it's over now. I'll be able to explain more about it later. Each charm is for a year we spent as friends." He pointed to the first charm, the hat. "This is the sorting hat. It was the first thing we did when we went to wizard school." Taking each one in turn, he explained them all, "This is a basilisk. There was one at school but we got rid of it. This one stands for our friend Sirius, who we met in our third year. He could turn into a dog that looked like this one. See this? It's the TriWizard Cup. It's a really great award that we helped Harry get in fourth year. The fifth one stands for Dumbledore's Army. It was a group that you came up with to fight a real git of a toad that had taken over the school. The book is for the old potions book that Harry found in sixth year. You hated that book, but it was a big part of our last year at Hogwarts. This last one is for when…" Ron stopped. He didn't know how to explain the last charm. It stood for when he and Hermione had finally admitted their feelings for each other, but he didn't know how to explain it to her without saying that they were going out.

"It stands for the end of the war right?" she asked.

"Yea, that's it," he said, eager for any explanation except the truth. "I know it doesn't make much sense now, but I'll tell you more about it later if you like."

"Yes, please," she said with a smile on her cheeks and in her eyes. "It sounds like we had a really eventful time at school and I want to know more, but right now we need to finish packing."

"Yea, right, well let me show you this one last thing before we pack it all up." He took the second velvet box and opened it to reveal her wand, as Hermione carefully put the bracelet away. As soon as she saw her dragon heartstring wand, however, she dropped the charm bracelet box and only had eyes for the decorated wood. Her small hands reached for the wand as if she was being pulled magnetically. Seeing her movement, Ron closed the box and hid it behind his back.

"No way," he said. Seeing Hermione's longing for the wand be replaced by sadness made his heart fall, but he did not bring out the wand again for her. "I can't let you touch it yet, 'Mione. I dunno what will happen. You might accidently do magic. I'm sorry."

"It's ok," she mumbled, her tone indicating that it was not ok at all.

"Well we might as well put it all away and head off," Ron announced, trying to change the subject. He pulled the tiny purple bag toward him and placed the long velvet case inside, even though it was twice as long as the bag.

"How does that even fit?" she asked, awe returning once more to her expression. "It's much too big to fit."

"Well, you did it yourself. You charmed it so it can hold much more than it appears to be able to. Take a look," Ron offered, extending the bag out to her. She took it eagerly and marveled at her own spell for a few seconds before plunging her entire arm into the small thing. She gasped when her limb disappeared up to her armpit.

Ron laughed at her marvel and she began to place all the other items into it. After all had been packed, he summoned some fitted jeans and a purple muggle t-shirt for her from her flat. When Hermione appeared again, changed out of her hospital gown, he took her hand. "We're going to apparate to the Burrow now ok? You might feel a little sick when we get there though, it's tough your first time."

She tightened her grip on his and he smiled, loving the feeling of the contact. Ron turned on his heel and they were both sucked into blackness. The air was crushed from his lungs and he had the sensation of being squeezed much too tightly. Just when he thought his head would burst from the pressure, he popped out, still holding Hermione's hand, in a small wood.

"Aww, bloody hell! I never was the best at apparating. I missed by a bit, 'Mione, we have to walk the rest of the way, sorry," he said embarrassed at his poor magic.

Hermione said, "Oh, its ok, these woods are beautiful anyways," trying to make Ron feel better.

Ron tried his hardest not to think that the real Hermione would've scolded him for his mistake and his fowl language, but he couldn't help but notice the difference. Confusion suddenly overtook him. She should be heaving right now. How could she be perfectly fine and standing upright when she had apparated for the first time?

"Wait, you don't feel sick?" Ron asked, putting a hand on her forehead to check her temperature.

To this she replied, "Well, I sort of knew what was going to happen. I knew I would feel a lot of pressure so I prepared myself for it I guess."

Ron stood staring at her, mouth agape. She had remembered something! Something that didn't have much meaning, but it was still something. They were already making progress. He couldn't help himself from pulling her into a tight embrace. As he felt her warmth against him and her arms squeeze back, it was all he could do to not kiss her. Before he could cave in to his urge, he let go, missing the contact at once.

A pink faced Hermione quietly asked, "Umm… which way is the Burrow?"

"Oh, yea, sorry. It's this way," he answered, leading the way through the woods. Neither spoke as they walked through the trees, twigs crunching beneath their feet and branches pulling at their clothes.

Around what Ron guessed to be 15 minutes later, they arrived at the back of the Burrow. The brown, worn house tilted slightly and had rooms coming out at odd angles. The strange building had become even odder looking when the new additions had been put on. A room at the top floor was added for Hermione a few weeks back and was next to Harry's new room, which protruded upward, above the roof on stilts. The rooms had been added because the two had visited so many times in the past few months, they had needed the extra space. One more room had been added. It was on the second floor, next to Ginny's room. The new space became George's new room. He had been unable to sleep in either the flat or room at the Burrow that he had shared with Fred. Nobody ever entered the twins' old room, and it was always passed quickly with downcast eyes. The Burrow was full to bursting after the war. Every family member had wanted to stay at home and mourn for their dead brother. After the funeral, they had all stayed – except for Bill and Fleur who returned to Shell Cottage. Everybody had felt the need to stay close to one another after so many had been lost, as if by physically doing so, they could fill the gap left by Fred.

Ron hurriedly went back to reality. If he thought of the emotional burden on his family any longer, he would surely break down, and this was definitely the wrong time to become a wreck. He had to keep his promise. He would hold himself together for Hermione. At the thought of her name, he noticed her absence. Fear overcame him and he rushed into the Burrow as fast as he could to search for the lost brunette.

To his great relief, she was inside, gazing at his mother's old clock. It was the one that told the family members' locations. He edged up behind her and tapped her shoulder. She did not turn around though. She simply continued to stare and asked, "Why am I on here?"

Ron looked at the decrepit old clock. It said things like mortal peril, traveling, work, home, and school along the edges, and the clock had almost twenty hands. They had pictures of the Weasley children (minus Fred), his mum and his dad, Harry, Fleur, and Hermione. She continued to stare as the Ron hand on the clock moved to the home area.

"Oh, well, mum thinks of you as family, 'Mione. So when she added Bill's wife to here, she added you and Harry too."

Hermione gave him a teary eyed smile and whispered, more to herself than to him, "I knew I did the right thing when I chose to come here."

Once again, Ron had to make a distraction for himself so he wouldn't kiss her. Thankfully, a distraction walked in at that very moment. His mother said, sweetly, "Hello dearies, dinner is on the table. Help yourselves. I'll be upstairs folding laundry if you need anything."

Ron nodded, knowing that she was keeping everybody cooped up in their rooms so the couple could have privacy and not overwhelm Hermione.

"Hungry?" he asked, thinking about the undoubtedly delicious meal his mother had prepared.

"Well, I suppose we could eat something," she responded.

Ron directed her to the kitchen and began to shovel enormous helpings of roast chicken and sprouts onto his plate, before he noticed Hermione at the sink.

Once again, she was captivated by the magic in the house. This time, it was the dishes washing themselves. Ron sat his plate down and strode over to her. He watched her eyes linger on the plate and her hand stretch towards it. Realizing what was about to happen, Ron began to warn her, but it was too late. Her fingers had touched the half clean plate, breaking the charm. The plate was sent crashing into the sink, breaking into dozens of white, ceramic pieces.

Hermione's stuttered apologies were ignored as Ron whipped out his wand, and casted a repairing spell. After Ron had reset the washing charm, Hermione had once again tried to apologize. Ron stopped her mid-sentence and beckoned her to the table.

Once they had both sat down to eat, Ron continued to pile food upon his own plate while Hermione took modest portions of lamb chops and roast potatoes. When the pair had filled up on Mrs. Weasley's marvelous cooking, they stood up, yawning. Ron sent the leftovers into the fridge and the plates into the sink with a few swift spells, leaving the table spotless. He expected an astonished expression from Hermione, but found her occupied by Ginny's pygmy puff, Arnold.

At the moment, Arnold was rubbing Hermione's palm affectionately. When Ron came to Hermione's side, however, he jumped on Ron's head and began jumping up and down aggressively.

"Urgh! Bloody twit, Arnold! Gerroff!" Ron yelled, taking swings at the creature on his head. He began to stumble around, running into the sofa in the process. Ron yelled in pain as the armrest hit between his legs. This made Arnold let out a squeaky giggle, as he hopped off Ron's head and bounded off down the hall.

Ron stood there, with his face contorted in agony. Hermione stood four feet away, trying to suppress a surge of giggles. Eventually, Ron stood up, vowing to feed Arnold to the gnomes outside tomorrow.

Three owls swooped into the room, drowning out Ron's mumbles of "bloody git" and "bleedin demon". The birds had just returned from their evening flight and landed in their cages, lined up against the far wall.

For about the tenth time that night, Hermione's attention was taken one hundred percent by something new and magical. Ron hobbled over, still throbbing from the collision with the armrest. "This is Errol, Pigwidgeon, and Bird," he said through clenched teeth, pointing from the old tawny owl that looked like it was about to die, to the small giddy one, bouncing around in its cage, and finally to the calm, great horned owl. "Errol is Percy's work owl, Pigwidgeon is my bloody owl," he said the last line with a grimace to hide the affection he really had for the bouncy little thing. "And Bird is the new, family owl we got a few moths ago."

Hermione stuck her fingers through the bars of Bird's cage and he nibbled lightly on them, making her laugh. Oh how much Ron loved that laugh. His famous lopsided grin spread as her happy laugh filled his insides with an unexplainable warmth.

Facing him, she asked, "What do we do now?"

"Well, I'd give you a tour but its getting late, and mum and dad are probably sleeping by now, so I'll show you it tomorrow, I promise," he answered. Ron knew he would've had time for a quick tour tonight, but he wanted to make an excuse to make sure he saw her tomorrow.

"Yes, that sounds great," she said, returning his grin. "I think I'll go and read The Notebook now if you don't mind."

"Oh, yea, sure," he said, disappointed. "I'll show you where your room is." Once again, Ron took the lead and Hermione followed behind him. After several flights of stairs, they reached the top floor, which held Hermione's bedroom door.

Ron turned the glistening handle and ushered her inside, saying, "Well here it is. The trunk is over there and it has some clothes that mum brought from your flat." He gave her the beaded bag that held a few of her belongings, wished her goodnight, and exited the room. Once he had shut the door as quietly as he could, so as to not wake anyone, he went down the flight of stairs to his own bedroom.

Once Ron was alone inside, he sat on the edge of his bed, thinking of the day's events. After a few minutes of deep thought, Ron noticed the picture frame that he had sent to his room earlier that day. He jumped off the bed and picked it up with shaking hands. Flipping it over, he revealed the picture that the golden frame contained. It was him and Hermione on their 5 month anniversary. They were holding hands and laughing. Ron stood there for the longest time, gazing longingly at the photo, remembering how it felt to hold his girlfriend. The photographed couple looked deeply into each other's eyes and kissed, only to be broken apart by Pigwidgeon swooping just above their heads. The laughing couple returned to smiling at the real life Ron, not knowing the pain they were causing him.

When he could bear it no longer, he set the picture face down on his night stand. He had lost all that. The old Hermione was gone, and he could only wait and hope to get her back. The image from the picture was imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, making the pain in his chest strengthen. As tears came to his eyes once more, he knew he could not just wait. He would do everything he could to bring his girl back to her old self. He needed her back.

Wiping at his tears, an idea came to his mind. It was simple, but brilliant. He wouldn't exactly be following Dr. Harrison's orders, but he wouldn't be breaking them either. Suddenly, he realized how tired he actually was. He pushed his plans to the back of his mind, to think about tomorrow. Without even changing into pajamas, he lay down on his bed and drifted into his first full night's sleep in a week. He lay there for the next nine hours, dreaming of the old, whole Hermione, tears still glistening in the corners of his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7: Best Mates

Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own the Harry Potter characters, setting, spells, or basically anything that seems familiar to you.

Best Mates

(Ron's POV)

Ron awoke to the sound of fireworks and the whooshes of broomsticks. Being used to this odd awakening, he automatically reached behind him at his nightstand, his large and freckled hand grasping in the dark for his wand. Not being able to find the slender shape of the willow wood, he turned on his side to face the nightstand. Ron felt a sharp jab on his side when he turned, causing him to release a short grunt. Searching his pockets for the source of the poking, his fumbling hand found the familiar feel of his wand. As Ron never slept in his day clothes on purpose, he reasoned that he had fallen asleep before changing.

The whooshing and crackling of fireworks grew louder, emanating from his Chudley Cannons alarm. A quick flick of his wand quieted the noise. According to the flashing, orange numbers directly above the object, it was around 7:45 a.m. It had been bewitched by his mum to wake him once he had a full night's sleep. On most days, he would swear at the noisy contraption and grumpily go back to sleep, after turning off the alarm. Today though, he had too much on his mind to drift asleep.

Ron dropped his wand onto the bed, sat up, stretched his muscled arms, and let out a slow, satisfying yawn. He swung his long legs out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed, and stood up, wobbling a bit due to the early hour. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and stumbled over to his trunk. Reaching inside, he found an orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. He speedily changed from his previous outfit to the new one. Ron pocketed his wand once more and quietly headed out the door, ducking under the low frame. He walked down the many stairs to the kitchen and tried not to wake anyone with the banging of his bare feet on the wood.

Ron stepped into the small kitchen, with the idea of making tea and organizing his plans, only to find a steaming pot on the stove already. Even more surprising was the figure sitting at his kitchen table, sipping his own hot tea. Harry stopped drinking when he saw Ron and his eyes widened.

The two stayed there in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say. Ron and Harry's friendship had fallen off since the end of the war. Both had been so busy. Harry had been bombarded with the press and had to make hundreds of public appearances. After his fans had calmed a bit, he, being the Chosen One, had been snatched up by the best Auror camp in the business, which had occupied his time for the next several months. Ron, on the other hand, had grieved with his family for some time after the war, staying cooped up in the Burrow. After the many funerals of friends and family, his time was spent with Hermione. He had gone to Australia with her, to return her parents to England. It had taken longer than expected to find the Grangers and help them pack their things. After they had been safely moved back home, Ron had been eagerly accepted into the same camp as Harry, under the status of, "the Chosen One's partner". Harry was a month ahead of Ron in the program though, putting them into separate divisions.

Harry and Ron both stayed at the Burrow on Sundays, but never really communicated. Harry was distant from all the Weasleys ever since the defeat of Voldemort and eventually, all they had was quick, polite conversations at dinner. Nobody really understood why Harry was so distant from them. Mrs. Weasley constantly tried to reach out to him, but never really succeeded. Having just lost a son, losing Harry broke her even more, and she was often found crying silently to herself. Hermione had done the same. The two women had both settled for quick bursts of tears when they thought nobody could hear them, but somehow, Ron always ended up walking in on them when they were breaking down. Not only had the family lost Fred, but now Harry, the one who was always fighting the bad guys and keeping them safe, had left them too. Ron had thought he would grow used to Harry's absence, but you can't really forget your best mate.

Ginny hadn't been able to fully cope either. She had taken it extremely hard when Harry wouldn't speak his feelings. She had always been the one that Harry would whisper his true, honest emotions to. Ginny had never been shut out by him before, and when she was, she too shut everybody out. The youngest Weasley spent her time moping and staying silent during the summer. She had improved after her return to Hogwarts though. When she visited on Christmas, she was more of herself, but still wasn't entirely there, as Harry was still staying distant.

The entire Weasley family was breaking down and splitting apart.

After five months of training six days a week, Harry graduated one month before Ron. He moved out of the Burrow and into a new flat. He told nobody of its location in order to hide from the annoyingly curious press. Harry, much to everybody's surprise, didn't take the Auror job right away. He had chosen to "let his life calm down a bit" before starting work.

Once Ron graduated, he began to help George with the joke shop on week days instead of going directly into the Auror business. Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, had promised Ron that he would give him a job once everything was straightened out with the shop.

Hermione had been finishing up her studies on the days that Ron was at Auror training. McGonagall had given her the opportunity to finish her final year of school at the Burrow. Hermione had been sent the lesson plans and was told to owl her homework to her teachers. Having all of the material available to her, she had finished a year's worth of schooling in a few months, causing her to graduate only weeks before.

Ron actually could not think of a time when "The Golden Trio" had been alone together after the final battle. The closest they had been was when Ron had patted him on the back at the hospital. The gesture was meant to make Hermione more comfortable with the strangers, but it had made Ron realize how much he really missed his best mate.

Ron had constantly felt guilty about the distance between him and Harry, but it wasn't something that could be easily fixed. The little free time he had was spent with his girlfriend, and even if he had reserved time for Harry, he wouldn't know where to owl him. Not only was there the issue of lack of contact, Ron was angry at Harry also. Harry hadn't shown up for Fred's funeral. In Ron's eyes, Harry had left him when Ron was the weakest, on the one day that he needed more than Hermione to comfort him. He and Hermione had waited until the very last possible second for their best friend, but he had never come. The funeral was made even worse without the black haired, green eyed boy crying along with the family. Everyone was not only mourning for Fred, but was worried about Harry's safety. The next day though, they found out that he was not captured and forced to leave them alone in their time of need, but that he had disappeared of his own accord. Ron honestly didn't know if he would have rather had his friend bound and gagged then abandon him out of choice. No apology was ever given to Ron and this only greatened the gap between the two old friends. Neither Ron nor Harry had ever brought up the topic, as they had never really spoken alone.

"Uh, good morning, Ron," Harry said, setting his cup down on the long, wooden table. The tension between the pair was obvious, and seemed to hang in the air between them.

"G'morning. What're you doing down here, its way too early to be up," Ron responded, clearly still surprised that Harry was even here.

"I was about to ask the same thing," Harry said with a nervous chuckle, "You're never up before noon."

Ron smiled his lopsided grin and asked to join Harry. Harry responded with an eager smile and with a swift movement of his wand, sent a cup from the open cupboard to be filled with tea and set across form him, in front of a vacant chair.

Ron pulled the chair out and sat upon the cushioned seat, grasping his cup in one hand. Ron wasn't sure why, but he was extremely nervous. He didn't want to mess up their friendship even more by being the git that he usually was in emotional situations. His heart beat quickened and he tapped his bare foot nervously on the floor.

Although he could think of many reasons to just sit there in the awkward silence, he decided to voice his plans to his old mate. "So why are you here?" he asked, trying to start conversation.

"Oh, well, I asked your mum if I could stay for a bit, and she said I could. I wanted to help with Hermione and all. I don't have to stay though, I understand if...," Harry said so quickly that Ron could barely make everything out.

Ron hadn't expected Harry to feel unwelcome in a house where he had his own room, and he wasn't trying to accuse Harry of being in the house when he wasn't invited, he was always welcome. "No, no, I meant why're you down here," Ron responded.

"Oh, well, I couldn't sleep much," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.

"Me neither," Ron agreed with a slight nod of his head. Another silence took over and the only noise was their nervous fidgeting. Ron ran his fingers through his bright orange hair at least ten times and Harry's eyes went to almost every nook of the kitchen except where Ron was sitting.

Ron contemplated about how to ask for help. As soon as he saw Harry in the kitchen, he had known he wanted Harry to be a part of his plan to help Hermione. They could be "The Golden Trio" once more. "I need your help," Ron voiced. He knew he should give some kind of explanation, but he needed Harry to agree first, so he could be sure that his old friend wouldn't tell Dr. Harrison. The plan wasn't exactly against what the doctor said, but Ron was sure he would not be pleased if he heard what Ron was planning.

"Sure. Anything, Ron. Is it about Hermione?" Harry asked, making eye contact with Ron for the first time. His green eyes screamed of hope, as they used to. It was the first time that Harry had shown interest in anything besides Auror work in a long time.

Ron was pleased by Harry's reaction. He had said it as if it had been obvious that he would help. Even better, Harry guessed what it was about. They used to be like that in school, so close that they knew what the other was thinking. A smile broke into his features when it was made obvious that the connection was obviously still there. At that moment, all the tension was gone. It was as if they were the best of mates once again and nothing had ever happened to stop that. All the awkward silences disappeared and the conversation went naturally.

"Yea. I, uh, kind of have an idea of how to help her remember stuff," he told.

"Go on," Harry said, intrigued.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe you and I could tell her a story each day. You know, get her thinking about the past. Like one day we could tell her about how we met or something. Just little bits of our school life and stuff," he explained.

"Ron, that's brilliant," the boy across from him said. "I was trying to think of something to help her too, but I couldn't come up with anything."

"Yea, well, there's a problem. The doctor told me not to reenact stuff from her past. But we won't exactly be "reenacting" them, so I figured it wouldn't be too bad," the redhead nervously said as he twiddled his thumbs and his ears began to redden.

"Ron, since when have we followed any rules," Harry joked, forming a smile on both boys' faces. "But I think we should let Hermione choose the stories. It'll keep her interested and it'll seem less suspicious. I really don't think she'll approve of us doing this when the doctor said not to," Harry said with a much more serious tone.

"Yea, good idea. So are we just gonna ask what she wants to hear about?" Ron asked.

"Yea, I mean she must be curious about something. She's in a magic house for Pete's sake, why wouldn't she be curious?" Harry said with a slight smile.

Ron's face turned suddenly serious. His eyebrows furrowed and he said with much curiosity, "Who's Pete?"

Ron only became more confused when Harry broke out into a fit of laughter at Ron's serious expression. Ron could feel the back of his ears burning as Harry continued to laugh. After he had regained his composure and sat up straight again, he said, "Its and expression, there isn't anybody really named Pete that I know."

"Bloody muggle expressions. 'Raining cats and dogs', 'two peas in a pod', 'apple of my eye'. They never fail to make me look like a twit," Ron said grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's because you are a twit Ron," Harry said, laughter etched into his features.

At this moment, the tension from earlier swept over the room again, wiping every trace of friendliness and happiness from the air. It had all returned with the playful insult. They might've been friendly a few moments ago, but there was a wall between the two once more.

"I…I'm sorry Ron, I didn't mean to say it, it just came out," Harry sincerely apologized.

Although Ron knew it had been a completely accidental comment and wasn't a real insult, he still felt a small blow to his insides. For some reason, he took offense to the comment and simply replied, "Its ok. No big deal. I'll tell you when its time for 'Mione's first story," his tone indicating that it was not ok at all and that the conversation was over.

The silence returned and the two finished off their tea without speaking. As soon as Ron was done, he pulled out his wand, sent the dish to be cleaned, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving a blank looking Harry slumped in his seat at the table with only an empty cup for company.

AN: Wow, this chapter did not go where I intended it to at all. I was actually going to have Hermione be the one in the kitchen, but somehow Harry ended up being there. I hope you all still liked it though. The next chapter will be from Harry's POV so you will get the explanation of why he missed the funeral, was distant from the Weasleys, didn't take the Auror job right away, etc. I also had serious writer's block during this chapter but I hope it turned out ok.

Ok, I just wanted to say that I am not against the Harry and Ron friendship or anything. I admire how close they are in the books, but they do get into their fights. They're both bad at apologizing, so that's why it has taken so long for them to reconnect. I just always thought Harry would be distant and depressed after the war. Why he is depressed exactly, will be in the next chapter. But don't worry, I promise that both the Harry and Ron friendship and the Ginny and Harry couple will change eventually. Also, I know that J.K. Rowling said that Hermione goes back to Hogwarts for her last year, but I could never see it happening. I honestly don't think she would've left Ron or Harry for an entire year. So I tried to stick with J.K. Rowling's ending but put my own twist on it too. I hope you don't mind. Lastly, please review. They all mean so much to me and they keep me writing. I hope to get a new chapter up soon, but in the meantime, review please


	8. Chapter 8: The Fortress

AN: Ok sorry it has been a while since I've updated. I've been insanely busy lately. Also, this is my first chapter from Harry's POV so sorry if you think I got his emotions wrong. Please enjoy and comment.

The Fortress

(Harry's POV)

Harry was left there, still holding his cup in one sweating hand. He rested his elbows on the hard wood of the table and let his face lay in his hands. His mind swam with the regrets of the past few months. The emotional grief he had experienced in his first 17 years was nothing compared to this. Harry had always kept back his emotions from the world. It seemed he was always putting on a brave face for the public, fighting back the monsters for the greater good. Nobody would ever guess that the strongest wizard known to the world was a fraud, a shell of the person he was built up to be. So many people wanted to be him, wanted a scar on their foreheads. If only they knew what he was holding back inside himself. If they knew how much it took for him not to break down every single second of the day, they would know. They would all know that "The Chosen One" was nothing but a title. It was empty words, too great for their beholder.

All of his life he had built up a fortress. It all started at Privet Drive. During his childhood, before Hogwarts, it was to keep the Dursleys out. He had built up a sort of barrier so that he would never get his hopes up for love. The only reason he could keep his sanity while staying there was to walk around with a fake smile and push all emotion out. He would ignore the longing for love and family. He would shove past the grief he felt for his long deceased mother and father. Harry would try to forget the anger he harbored towards his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He would even deny the dreams of escape that he held deep down for his future. It was a simple plan, but it kept him going. This first attempt at shutting out the world seemed to be the most successful. It was just Harry. He only had to worry about himself, never give a thought to those outside his walls. He had never known companionship, so there was nothing to be missed or longed for.

When he first came to the magical world, that wall broke a little. Every day a new brick would crumble until eventually, he could feel again. He could feel the admiration of his fellow classmates, the friendship given by Ron and Hermione, and even his hatred of Snape and Malfoy. All seemed to be healing and fixing inside himself. It had not all decayed and fallen away though. Harry still needed the safety of his emotional armor. It kept away the thought of his parents and of a life that was stolen away from him. Only during his stays with the Dursleys, would his fortress reappear to its fullest.

Only in his fifth year, did he need a full blown barrier during his time at Hogwarts. This time, he pushed out only half of his life though. Outside the wall were Voldemort, Snape, Malfoy, Umbridge, and the sorrows of his past. Safely inside with him was his new family. It consisted of Dumbledore, McGonagall, the entire Weasley clan, Hermione, Sirius, and even Neville. By selecting a few companions to wait out the storm with him, he saved himself.

At the end of his fifth year though, he realized that somebody inside those walls could hurt him more than he could ever imagine. The death of Sirius had almost killed him. If Harry had not thrown his dead godfather outside his imaginary walls, he couldn't have made it. By trying to bury and hide his remorse, he could live on for his dear friends.

In sixth year, the same measure was taken for Dumbledore's death. Harry would simply shut it all out and focus on the ones still with him. A mask began to form on his pale face. It was a mask of bravery, of hope. This gave his companions something to live for, while he only survived for them. His fears and vulnerabilities were behind this façade and only Harry knew of their quiet existence.

All during his seventh year, he tried his best to keep his newly formed mask and his old barriers. The only difference was that now it seemed the entire world was trying to get inside his emotional protector. All wanted safety and words of encouragement from him. Harry was expected to keep himself and the entire world inside while keeping Voldemort and his death eaters out.

In fact the only one to leave was the one he needed most. Ron's departure was a small occurrence, but broke all of his walls down. For the first time in his life, he felt all that had happened to him. He had been overcome with sorrow, loss, longing, regret, and anger during those weeks without Ron's presence. His mask too was shattered. The negative feelings behind it were so strong that they had burst through the thin layer of heroics.

He stayed like this until the end of the war. He felt all that happened with full intensity and well, he loved it. Harry felt the liberation of no longer carrying his heavy armor and mask with him at all times. It helped him to feel alive and full of adrenaline. This surge of power pushed him through it all until the day after the final battle. It was then that the power ceased to carry him, and Harry was left to fend for himself. It was here that he felt the full impact of his actions.

So many had died because of him, both innocent and evil lay perished. Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Mad-eye, Hedwig, and countless that still had yet to be discovered lay lifeless along the corridors and fields of his dear school. They were all gone. They too had been stolen away from him by Voldemort. Even as the tyrant lay dead, his firm grip could still be felt around Harry's soft neck. The realization that all of this was Harry's doing, crushed him so quickly that all he could do was lay on the ground with the dead, a crumpled heap of a man. He had thought that if he lay there long enough, maybe he could join them all in the afterlife, and live there without this heavy grief crushing his lungs.

He knew not how long he stayed there with the perished. All he remembered was his tears mixing with their blood as Ginny's face came into view. She opened her mouth and Harry guessed that she screamed – he was too dazed to really hear anything - and called for help until dozens of wizards came. They checked Harry's breathing since Ginny couldn't bear to do it herself. He tried to speak as they lifted him up off the bodies, but since his voice had not been used in many, many hours, all he was able to do was make odd moaning noises.

Harry was carried up the moving staircases by a pair of strong, muscled arms. The young, grieving wizard continued to try and speak all the way up the grand staircase until finally he was able to say something. This same phrase he repeated over and over until he was set on a soft bed in the hospital wing. He began to weep. Harry screamed and swore and cried for hours and hours. Harry shook, trembled, and turned on the mattress so much that soon almost the entire bed was damp with his sorrow. He was letting it all out. The entire fortress was destroyed. All that Harry had worked to build up around him in those seventeen years was demolished in one night.

He lay there for almost an entire day, his body racked with tears. He cried for the deceased, the wounded, those who lost loved ones, and the ones who were left alive, but alone. All Harry could see in those pathetic 24 hours was green light hitting innocent people. All he could hear was the screams of the tortured. All he could feel was castle shaking with Voldemort's terribly magnified voiced.

Eventually, when he couldn't hate himself any more than he already did, he grew silent. A mere moment after he grew quiet and closed his eyes for some needed sleep, a puffy-eyed redhead walked in. She peered into the room and once she saw him, a tired smile broke into her features.

"Harry," was all she had whispered as she glided over to him and gave him a tight hug.

Harry began to repeat the same phrase from earlier again and again to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he croaked.

"I know my dear," she whispered to him through her own tears. "You need your rest." Mrs. Weasley then left Harry to doze off, not knowing that this would be the last, honest conversation she would ever have with the black haired teenager.

Sleep overcame Harry, but it was not a peaceful slumber. His sleep from that day on was filled with dreams of battles and dying. Even as he awoke a few hours later, he could hear the screams from his dream echoing in his ears. Strangely, the cries did not lessen, they only became louder. They became so overpowering that Harry was forced to cover his ears with a pillow to at least soften the screams.

Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey hurriedly walked in and shoved sort of medicine from a tall, black bottle down his throat that quieted the voices on contact. His muttered thank yous were ignored and she quickly hustled out of the room, probably to care for the wounded that lay in the Great Hall.

Harry had nowhere to go. He could not possibly walk down those hallways. Certainly they would all hate him for what he did. He didn't think he would be able to bear their hateful looks and quiet whispers along with his current depression. So he sat there and thought.

Harry sat there, alone and decided to rebuild. He would once again create his impenetrable fortress. This time, however, he would allow no one inside. It would be just Harry, as it was before he knew of this world. He would stay alone because he knew he would be unable to truly look at anybody else for a long, long time. He was terrified to look into the eyes of a former friend and see the hate that they bore for him. He did not deserve to be around those who had lost loved ones in the war, jut as a murderer didn't deserve to look at the victim's relatives. Harry knew that society should shun him, and if they didn't, he would do it for them. For these reasons, he would manage and grieve by himself. There, inside his barrier, Harry would live the rest of his life.

The current Harry, still alone at the Weasleys' table, stared solemnly at his empty cup. How idiotic he had been to think he could talk to Ron. Why should Ron have to be near the one that caused the death of his brother? Harry then laughed to himself because that was exactly what he had been secretly hoping for the past 10 months. He had been so foolish to even wait for his Auror job until Ron started his as well. Quickly though, as it always seemed to be, his smile was replaced by a grimace. How was his resolve broken so easily? Harry had recently done such a good job of keeping away from the Weasleys. He had been proud of how well he had resisted the urge to befriend them again. They deserved better than him, and he had remembered that the past few months. The last time he had cracked and spoken to one of them was the day after Fred's funeral. The worst day of his young life actually - even worse than the day after the final battle. Regretfully, he remembered that terrible night.

He had just snuck into the Burrow and was sitting in one of the living room's old recliners that Arthur had gotten from a muggle shop. It reminded him of the chairs that were at the Dursleys' house, and oddly enough, he was comforted by this familiarity. His life had been so full of sorrow and regret lately, that even memories of his pitiful childhood were a comfort. The only light came from a floor lamp in the corner, making the room dim. He jumped out of the chair when he saw the young girl staring at him from the stairs as if she had been waiting for him.

"Where were you?" Ginny said, her voice containing honest concern. She took a few steps toward him so that she was only around three feet from his chest. It was the closest they had been since she found him with all the dead bodies at Hogwarts. The air between them was thick and it made Harry sweat and want to hold her in his strong arms.

"I-I was at th-the Three Broomsticks," he stuttered quietly.

"The Three Broomsticks? But Fred's funeral was today and you…" she said as if trying to explain it to herself.

"I know. I didn't want to come," Harry said, not showing any of the apologies that he felt.

"So… you missed it… on purpose?" she asked him, her eyes trying to search his face for a sign of lies.

"Yes," Harry replied simply. He tried to show no emotion so she would have nothing to read in his tone.

"Why?" she asked. It was the way that she asked that made him hate himself for not showing up. She almost whispered it, and it was heavy with hurt.

"I-I just couldn't," Harry whispered, not looking at her. If his bright green eyes caught sight of a single tear in her beautifully brown ones, he would cave.

"You think _you_ couldn't?" she said, her voice rising in volume. "We, I, needed you there."

"I-," he began, still not meeting her gaze.

"No. Don't you dare try and make up an excuse Harry," she spat at him. He cringed at the way she said his name, with such anger, but she continued anyway, "You have no idea how _worried_ we were! Not only were we mourning for Fred but we thought you were in trouble! All I could think about was that soon I'd be at _your _funeral!"

She stopped yelling and stared at him until he had no choice but to look back. "Do you have any idea what that would have done to me? I-I don't think I could make it, Harry," she whispered. A single tear came out of her big eyes and Harry at once wished that she was still screaming. He would rather have her hate him than cry.

"Ginny…" he began, but once again, she refused to hear him speak.

"You should've seen Ron's face. Then you would've understood why we needed you there. He was so… broken, Harry. I've never seen him like that before," she said softly. More tears came from her eyes and Harry realized that this was the most he had ever seen her cry.

Next she asked the one thing that Harry was terrified of telling her, "Are you trying to separate from us, from me?"

Harry couldn't bring himself to speak; he was still staring into her sad eyes, so he just nodded.

"I should've known I would never be good enough for "The Chosen One"," she spat; all sorrow in her voice was now replaced with anger and sarcasm.

"Ginny, no I swear it's not like that, I love you," Harry pleaded, glad to get a full sentence out this time.

"Ha! Please! You've _never_ loved me Harry! If you loved me you would've shown up today," Ginny said with a tone so cold that it made Harry's spine shiver.

Harry was now getting aggravated. How could she possibly say that he never loved her when she was the center of his world, the thing that kept him fighting this past year? "Ginny, you're being ridiculous," he said, showing a bit of anger.

"Harry James Potter, don't you _dare_ say I'm being ridiculous! You're the one that's turning your back on your family!"

This comment, being completely true, hurt more than any insult she could've thrown at him. It was ironic that it was only now that he realized how much Ginny loved him. It was also now that he knew only a complete lie would keep her away, so that she could fine somebody worthy of her. "Ginny… I found somebody else… I'm sorry."

Her features turned from angry, to terrified, to blank. "Fine. Goodbye Harry," she whispered as she turned and headed for the stairs. On the second step she paused, as if considering something, and faced him. "And don't you dare think I'll come back to you again this time. I'm sick of this on and off shit."

Ginny took a few more steps and then turned once more, "Stay away from Ron. He deserves a better friend than you, Harry."

It was strange that hearing from Ginny what he had been thinking all along, could hurt so badly. He sunk to the floor and swore at himself. He had lost the person he craved most. And there he kneeled, racked with sobs once more, until morning broke. The deed had been finished forever. He could never go back now and change what he had said. It had all been done.

Harry snapped back to reality and blinked back tears. He had gotten what he wanted, seclusion. It was only after he had permanently shut out the world, that he realized he needed them even if it was against his better judgment. It was only when he was locked forever inside his fortress that he realized he needed the fresh air to live.

AN: Ok, that was a really deep chapter. I'm sorry this was so long but I had so much that I wanted to fit in. Also, I hope none of you are upset that Harry felt guilty after the war. I always thought that he would take it all on his shoulders again. Thank you so much for reading and please, please review.


	9. Chapter 9: Undeniable

Disclaimer: As much as I want to, I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, and I most likely never will.

AN: I would like to apologize for the long period of time between this chapter and the last. School, athletics, and friends have kept me insanely busy lately. In a few weeks though, school will be over and chapters will come out much more frequently. I hope this is worth the wait. Enjoy!

Undeniable

(Hermione's POV)

Hermione awoke at the Burrow just the way she liked it, without an alarm. Although most people thought of her as a constantly busy brainiac, she loved to wake up at her leisure. She laid there on the slightly lumpy mattress for a few moments with her eyes closed, loving the soft feel of the comforter on her bare legs. It felt so familiar and welcoming. Hermione had always worn only pajama shorts to bed, just for this purpose. Waking up in the morning to a light blanket gently touching the smooth skin on her legs was a simplicity that she cherished. It wasn't just the blanket that felt like an old friend though; it was the entire house. Ever since she walked through the doors, she had felt a friendly, almost loving, attachment to the place. All of it was so relaxed and cozy, the exact opposite of her parents' immaculately clean home. She welcomed the change though. Like most people, as a child, she had always secretly harbored the desire to make a huge mess, and never be told to clean it up. Hermione had forever wanted to throw something on the floor, and not pick it up and put it in its correct place. In this new environment, she would be able to do just that.

Once she had fully awoken, Hermione opened her eyes and was welcomed by overwhelmingly blue walls, carpet, and furniture. The strong burst of color had somehow been unnoticed by the young witch the evening before. She had been so tired from the long day that she had walked in almost a daze to the indigo chest in the corner, and had chosen a suitably comfy set of pajamas for her first night in the Weasley house. The more she gazed around, the more her eyes were able to identify how persistent the designer of the room had been in using multitudes of blue. The walls were a soft sky blue; the carpet was a deep cyan; the full length mirror was rimmed with cobalt painted wood, and even the paintings on the walls were of blue geraniums and verbascums, swaying in an invisible breeze.

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes, and even when the caramel brown irises were tightly concealed by her lids, the overpoweringly blue room left its mark. The many shades of blue swam under her eyelids and she had to open them so as to not get dizzy. Hermione sat up and stretched, a satisfying yawn escaping her mouth. After a full night's sleep, she was ready to begin the day. Hermione, as always, began to plan out what she would accomplish throughout her day, but she found that she was unable to do her usual morning routine. Hermione had no idea what today would hold. For all she knew, she would be casting spells like everybody else in this new, strange world. At this thought, she became engulfed with emotion. It was an odd mixture of eager and nervous, that made her stomach churn. Before her nerves could get the best of her and cause her to stay in bed for a few more hours, she slid out from under the covers. She stretched once more, stood up, and walked to the chest against the sky blue wall. Hermione pulled hard on the lid, expecting it to be heavy, but to her surprise, it was extremely light. Knowing she wasn't that strong, she deduced that magic had been used in her new room to aid her in the day's simple tasks. It made her feel welcome that the Weasleys had gone to such lengths to make things simpler. She would surely need as many things to be simple in her new life as possible.

As the brunette was choosing a nice outfit for her first full day in her temporary home, a voice rang out below the floorboards.

"'Mione! Are you up yet?" Ron bellowed from floors below.

Smiling to herself, she cheekily answered, "Well, with how loud you're yelling, I doubt I could be sleeping!"

A deep chuckle could be heard, and Hermione could picture the lop-sided grin forming on Ron's face when he heard her playful remark. Even in her thoughts, his smile was so powerful that she had no choice but to return it. A smile turned into a giggle, and soon the worries that she had hidden in the back of her thoughts vanished. Such a simple gesture from this man could brighten her day before it even began. Hermione felt herself wishing to wake up to his strong voice every morning. The idea was pushed out of her mind as quickly as it had come though. She needed to get changed so she could get a head start on what was sure to be a day packed full of new and unusual experiences.

"I'll be only a moment!" she yelled loud enough for Ron to hear, wherever in the house he was.

Wanting to keep her word, she grabbed the first shirt, underwear, socks, and pair of jeans that her grasp found in the enormous painted trunk. After speedily throwing them on, she walked over to the mirror to see the final product. For the second time in mere hours, she was stunned by her grown appearance. She had changed so much, but her childish features were still detectable by someone who knew her in her youth. Even with her new womanly figure, she was still a bushy haired, no make-up know-it-all though.

Sighing because she knew no amount of time would tame her frizzy locks, she turned from the mirror. Now was not the time to pick apart her appearance. Hermione opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

She squinted. She hadn't noticed how dim her room had been, since she hadn't turned on the light, until she walked out onto the bright landing. Across from her room's wood door, was an entrance to another bedroom. To her right was one more door. This one was open though and past it, a ladder could be seen, leading up through a hole in the ceiling. To her left, was the long staircase. Blinking her watering eyes, she made her way to the stairs that were only a few feet away. The Weasley house was taller than it was wide, and her room was on either the third or fourth floor; she couldn't remember which. With her small hand grasping the oak banister, she began the long descent to the living room. Hermione only made it a few steps though, before she was once again distracted by something utterly incredible. This time, it was not a spell or owl though. It was a picture hanging on the wall to her left. By looking down the stairs, she could see that the entire left wall was covered in moving family photos, while the entire right was dotted with floor-length windows. Every five feet or so, a wooden rimmed window showed the woods and gardens so many floors below. As awe striking and beautiful as the view was, it was the photo nearest to Hermione that held her attention.

It was of that teenage girl, though much younger in the photo. Hermione knew it was her because of the intensity with which she looked at everything. It was the same curious yet piercing gaze that had been used on her at the hospital. The child seemed to be around ten years old or so, and she was opening a present wrapped in green wrapping paper, a decorative, red bow on the top. Her eyes widened as she saw the contents of the package. Hermione gasped as well when the gift was revealed. It was a toilet seat. The little girl seemed overjoyed by the odd Christmas gift, and she giggled so hard that she fell onto the hardwood floor. The two adults in the picture had completely different reactions to the present. The male, Ron's father, stood there smiling and shaking his head, as if a small child had done something mischievous but charming. Mrs. Weasley however, looked completely furious. She darted out of the frame and returned with a red envelope and parchment, on which she scribbled with a fury.

Hermione didn't have much time to be confused by the odd picture though, because Ron's voice rang out through the house once more, "'Mione! Hurry up, breakfast is getting cold! If you don't hurry, I'll eat it all!"

"Coming!" she answered, hurrying down the many flights of stairs, not stopping to view either the landscape or any of the photos that hung on the wall. By the time she reached the bottom, the picture was out of her thoughts.

Hermione jumped the last few stairs and speed walked into the little kitchen. Ron sat at the table, leaning back in his chair so that only two legs touched the floor. His maroon sweater had a large letter R sewed onto the front in gold stitches, and his jeans had some dirt on the knees. Mrs. Weasley was busy at the stove, cooking something that smelled absolutely delicious. Her brown, hand-made looking dress flowed with her as she cooked for her family. Her white apron with tiny, pink polka dots had at least six pockets sewn into it, but only two had something in them. Her wand and a long, wooden spoon seemed to be the only utensils that the woman needed to serve a meal for her large family. Before Hermione could ask what was being made, Ron's mother spun around and with a flick of her wand, a chair was pulled out for the young witch. Hermione happily took it and tried not to appear too fascinated by the magical gesture. Hermione could tell that Mrs. Weasley had been working for some time. Sweat dampened her red waves of hair and formed droplets on her pale cheeks. Had the two been closer, she would've offered to help, but since she had only just met the person, Hermione felt uncomfortable offering.

Once she was seated, Mrs. Weasley set silverware, a glass, and a plate on the table for her guest and turned her attention to her youngest son. Hermione was surprised to see her smack Ron in the head with the large, wooden spoon she had been using to cook, and holler, "Ronald, don't sit like that! I don't know how many times I have to tell you. You'll fall and hurt yourself if you don't sit properly!" As soon as the wood hit his flaming haired head, Ron returned all of his chair's legs to the floor.

"Ow! Mum that hurt!" Ron said, while rubbing his injury with his freckled palm.

"Well maybe if you listened to me once in a while, this wouldn't happen," his mother calmly responded. Turning once more to Hermione she added sweetly, "Now eat up Hermione; you barely had anything to eat at dinner and I don't want you to stay just skin and bones my dear."

Hermione, not knowing how to respond to being called 'just skin and bones', just smiled and reached for the fork that was laid out in front of her. Mrs. Weasley took this as a silent agreement to her offer, took her slender wand from her apron pocket in her free hand, and flicked the thin piece of wood once more. Dishes filled with all sorts of breakfast foods came zooming out of the fridge and cupboards. Juices and milk soared to the table and landed softly before the hungry young girl. Danishes, cereals, hotcakes, waffles, scrambled eggs, and blueberry muffins were only a few of the dozens of options that were set out for her. Magic would never cease to amaze her. Once again, she tried to seem used to objects moving on their own. As she was choosing which to begin with, Ron shoveled a helping of each dish into his overflowing plate.

"Ronald, you already ate breakfast. Let Hermione take what she wants first," his mother lectured, earning her a groan from her son. A death glare silenced Ron's annoying moaning though.

"But Mum, I've been waiting for _hours_ for her to wake up. I'm starved from all that patience!" he whined. Ron's stomach growled almost as if it was on cue.

"Hours? Hah! It's been only twenty minutes," Mrs. Weasley said while trying to hold back a smile.

An honestly shocked Ron said, "Blimey, only twenty minutes? I really am terrible at waiting. I bet I would be better at it with a full stomach." With a grin, he once again began to pile food onto a plate. This time, it wasn't his though. Once the dish was packed with an assortment of delicious ways to start the day, he handed it back to Hermione. "And maybe you would wake up on time if you actually ate something."

For a moment, Hermione forgot to take the stuffed plate from the redhead. She just sat there, staring into his chillingly blue eyes. Whenever he said a cheeky comment, they lit up. It was breathtaking. How lost she could get in a single, perfect glance. And how even more marvelous and sparkling his eyes became when he blushed. The intoxicating blue stood out more when his cheeks were rosy. Hermione was barely able to pull away from his gaze to take her meal from his firm grip. She grasped into the white ceramic and began to busy herself with her food. She needed something to distract her. If she was left without something to busy herself, she knew she would end up staring once more into those beautiful pools of sapphire blue.

Hermione couldn't help but groan quietly. It was no longer deniable. She couldn't just push it out of her thoughts anymore, because it was all she had been thinking about. She knew it was foolish and absurd, but she felt more than friendship towards Ronald Weasley. Sadly, she knew another fact that she could no longer hide from herself. She was just his friend. When he spoke of the past, he only ever referred to her as his friend. If there had ever been something more between them, she would've surely been told. And if they had been together since the beginning of their school days and nothing more than camaraderie had developed, how could it now? Why would he love a broken woman when he had no feelings for her when she was whole? For the rest of her life she would be making distractions. Just as she entertained herself now with playing with her morning meal, she would make up task after task to keep herself from falling even more for the man across the table from her.

AN: Well, I originally planned for this to be a lot longer than it turned out to be, but as I said in the above Author's Note, I have been insanely busy lately. I'm afraid that if I don't put this part of the chapter out there, that it will be another week before anything new is published. My dance recital is this Wednesday though, so after this week, I will have Mondays and Thursdays free. This will hopefully give me some time to write. Thank you to everybody who has read my story so far and please, please review. They honestly mean the world to me and are what inspire me to keep writing.


	10. My Apologies, and the End

Author's Note: I give you all my greatest apologies, because I can't continue to write Only Half Here. I am going to attend a new school in the fall in which I will be taking college level classes as a freshman. This includes at least four hours of homework every day. That, plus tennis every day, soccer three times a week, dance four times a week, and trying to maintain any sort of social life will keep me busy every second. I don't want you all to have to wait months for a new update, so I feel it is best to just drop the story completely. I am also 100% occupied during the summer with tennis, dance, photography, swimming, and soccer camps. Since I am going to be so busy, I won't have much time to think, let alone write. I have been pondering this for the past month, and I have decided it is in everybody's best interests to end this fanfiction. I am so sorry to all of you who have been patiently waiting for a new chapter. Once I actually get hold on my packed schedule, which I expect to be around a year, I will pick up writing fanfictions once more. I will begin a new plot line though, with new characters. I feel this is best since my writing style will most likely change in the next few months. So if it interests any of you, you may pick my plot up where I left off and continue it as your own. If I can't continue to tell the story, the next best thing is for my ideas to fuel somebody else's creativity. I only have one favor to ask if you want to do this; please send me a message. I would be extremely interested to see where you go with the rest of the story, and how it compared to my plans for it all. Thank you all so much for reading as much as you have, and please forgive me for not completing Only Half Here.


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